


The Tenshouin Express

by HolyEmpress



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Hospital, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9832937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyEmpress/pseuds/HolyEmpress
Summary: remember that time Eichi said he was sometimes so weak he couldn't hold a spoon?well, i sure hecking did





	

The lights had been turned down, as to avoid exhausting him – but even the beeping noises, crucial in indicating he was still alive, were major annoyances, ringing in his ears over and over again, preventing any rest. The head nurse had taken away his laptop an hour ago, without bothering to scold him – he could barely speak, and his hand had fallen flat as he'd tried to stop her, a pathetic display of his lack of strength. He would never admit it, but image training at this stage was a joke. He was closer to his deathbed than from the shining stages fit for an idol – and soon, indeed, his daydreaming began to focus on his funerals.

Though Keito's presence was pretty much a given – it was fun to imagine who would come, to pretend he would go out in style, like a true Emperor, surrounded by tearful students of the academy and _spiteful rivals_ as well. He'd always been torn between the desire for something deeply traditional and beautiful, elegant, and a childish dream of balloons and roses and magic, of a death so splendid it would inspire joy in the masses, and celebrate just how splendid it had been to live, to attempt at living through this undefeatable fate.

The lights were so dim – truly, he was dying, and it was rather lonely.

His comeback to Yumenosaki had almost managed to make him forget all of this – for months, he'd been so damn healthy, and experienced so many news things, from his class activities to the time he'd spent with fine, or the countless afternoons spent at the tea club's garden … off course, there had been a fair amount of fainting, dizzyness, and coughing blood, but it was a pleasurable pain, as if he was simply breathing too hard on top of the world, experiencing existence at its fullest. This, however, was boring.

\- Your food, Mr. Tenshouin, a nurse declares, bringing the plate up to his table. Please enjoy it.

 

Tomorrow, without a doubt, they'll stop serving him meals he wasn't capable of having, but for now, the medical team was still testing him – he'd proved to them, on multiple times, that his body was ressourceful, and could outdo itself in most dire occasions.

The plastic wrap had been undone already to spare him unneeded efforts – all he had to do was dig in. He reaches for his spoon, in pain already to have to move his arm, and his fingers manage a weak grip, but ultimately let go. He tries again, and a third and fourth time. The noise the spoon make when it falls on his plate becomes familiar, but – was there really a point to this dissonant melody if there was no one but him to hear it at all ?

\- Your Majesty, allow me to step in.

 

It is both a nightmare and a dream, he thinks. A single rose petal brushes against his hand – foolish magic in the room where all hope died, but the pink was bright, daring in this mass of grey, an enjoyable illusion. Sometimes, fevers overtook everything his brain was capable of thinking and replaced it with fantasies such as this one, but the silhouette of Wataru through the door's frame seemt eerily physical, capturing every ray of light in a way his imagination couldn't begin to piece together.

It was inevitable that he would visit again. He always did, really, no matter how much he objected to it – even when he ran away, idols came back into his existence, a shining beacon of hope he would never reach. He could try to make a hand gesture for him to come in, but his body wouldn't move, wouldn't overcome this pain so easily, so he lets Wataru make his move on his own.

\- It is I, your very own Hibiki Wataru ! I have overcome the toughest security just to secure my place on this very seat ! Tonight, I shall bring you the best of entertainement, once again...

 

He couldn't speak, only form the shape of the words, and his subject was therefore paying the utmost attention to his lips – showing that his careless jester act was nothing more than a farce. Truly, he was caring to a fault, pretending only for the sake of comedy and drama.

_Chatty Wataru_ , he mouthes with great difficulty.

He closes his eyes. The sound of his voice, usually pleasant, was too hard to withstand. He wonders, for a second, about the sight he is giving to his unit member, long-admired hero, about the feelings within Wataru's chest. For one thing – he truly hoped there wasn't pity nor compassion among them.

\- My, my, it seems the part of the sleeping beauty has been bestowed upon you, Emperor, has it not ?

His tone was much quieter, soft, transformed into something beautiful – as if an angel had descended upon his sad, miserable room . It was his most impressive talent, after all – even though everything about Wataru screamed genius, from his good looks to his performances and tricks, his ability to control his voice was simply astonishing. He'd used to ask him to use it to distract him from his boredom, mimicking the chatter of Yumenosaki's students all on his own, and it always felt realer than the real thing, save for the fact that nobody in the school was missing him as much as Wataru pretended to. He was nothing but a dying tyrant to a kingdom that was longing for freedom.

He forces his eyes to open again.

The food on his plate seems so far away – if only he could get some of this bland rice into his system, maybe he'd be able to stay awake a little longer… maybe he would stop feeling like the very embodiment of the word _agony_ for a few seconds.

He keeps staring at it hopelessly. Truly, this was despair, to be stuck between things he loved without being able to truly enjoy them. On days like this, the usual rice had the white accents of the clouds of paradise, simply because it was food, and food made him feel alive – just like Wataru who was bursting with the essence of everything he adored.

And he finds himself thinking, with a hint of surprise – that perhaps it was fate that brought him repeatedly to his bedside, as an incentive for him to die in his hero's arms.

\- Oh ! It seems we are in need for a trick ! Behold ! I will make these little grains fly straight to your mouth… Wataru declares softly.

He tries to shake his head no – or at least, the intent is there, but he just gives up midway. This was going to be disastrous, make the nurses upset one way or another, and he was kinda looking forward to it. But instead of some extravagant magic – the blue-haired illusionist simply pick up the spoon and fills it with rice, before beginning to make some… train noises.

\- All aboard the Tenshouin express, little rice grains !

He couldn't sit upright, but Wataru hodls his head up gently, so that he wouldn't choke on his food, and guides the spoon through his barely open mouth. He closes his eyes. This was extremely embarassing, and, thanksfully, nobody could witness it - after a while, the noise of the « Tenshouin express » finally become amusing, just as much as the sensation of Wataru's finger brushing against his hair begins to make him feel somewhat better. He craved human touch, in this dark prison where only professionals where allowed to meddle with his body.

With great teamwork, they finish a quarter of the bowl – he pouts to make Wataru understand he couldn't handle eating more for the day ; a desperate attempt to hide the fact that eating itself was exhausting him. If he acted like a child

Through half-closed eyes, he spot a mellow smile on his lips. Funny – he wasn't so familiar with that one.

It seemed like only an extraordinary human being would be deserving of something so pretty.

Next thing he knows, Wataru interrupts his daydreaming, touches his hair again – starts a massage, gently pressing some spots and running his fingers through blonds strands in the most pleasant way. It doesn't relieve the pain in his muscle, the fatigue, the exhaustion, but the fog in his brain clear a little. There's not a single false move.

_You're spoiling me_ , he tries to say, out of breath, but once again, his lips let out air without sound.

\- A magician like me simply aims to please and spread _amazing,_ Emperor, Wataru answers nonetheless.

It's a little forced, because the friend he knew was nothing simple, and that « amazing » he spoke of certainly couldn't bloom in hospitals – still, he appreciates the effort.

He didn't have it in himself to talk to Wataru about the flowers that did bloom between hospital walls, supported by tubes and medication until they withered away, petals soaked in the blood it had taken for them to grow.

Selfishly, he just desired more of his attention – and to never have to reflect upon his actions again.

Maybe never even thinking ever again would be fine. Scheming, crushing one's dream to build his very own dream stage… had tired him to this point where he wasn't even able to stop on top of the bodies of his fallen rivals.

\- However, if you were to try to please me, Eichi… I'd suggest you'd at least attempt to rest up a little. Even a fool like me cannot help but worry to see you strain yourself, especially in this gloomy setting. I shall sing you to sleep, if you were to refuse.

_I am in no position to refuse,_ is what he would have said, had he been capable of such a prowess. Instead, he lets Wataru tuck him in tighly as the clown begins humming a familiar tune.

 

_Yes ! Fantastic night,_

_fantastic night …_

« Please don't put me on life support anytime soon » is the last thought that comes across his mind before sleep gets him.


End file.
